Shifting Shadows

“Are you really selling secrets, Mel?” Ben sounded amused, in the mocking sort of way he had. “Shame, shame. So where is all the money going?” He glanced around, making a big production of the tiny living room and kitchen that comprised half of her apartment. He stretched his neck from one side to the other as if it were stiff, and when he was done, he focused on Duffy.

“Your eyes—” Duffy momentarily lost his usual confidence and looked shaken.

“What big teeth you have, dear,” said Ben. At least that’s what she thought he said, though it didn’t make any sense.

Duffy took a gulp of his wine, regrouped quickly from whatever had bothered him. He said, “All the more reason that getting on my bad side would be a terrible idea if you want to keep your job, Shaw. Walk away, and I’ll forget what I’ve seen.”

Ben laughed, and the sound made her take a step away from him. It was not a good laugh.

“You’re making a mistake.” Duffy stood up. He was a big man, taller and heavier built than Ben. He worked out—he’d told her that along with tales of his black belt when he had been trying to impress her.

“No,” said Ben. “I’ve made lots of mistakes. I know what that feels like. This is not a mistake. And as for what I am, whoop-de-f . . . freaking-do. It’s not a crime.”

“She’s a traitor,” Duffy said. “And I can make your job very uncomfortable.”

Ben snorted. “She’s a secretary, she doesn’t have access to anything. My doddering old mum in Merry Old England knows more about hacking than she does.”

He smiled, and Mel found herself stepping away from that smile until her legs hit the bookcase under the TV. The smile hadn’t been aimed at her, though. Duffy stumbled as he backed up against the counter in the kitchen—which was as far as he could go.

Ben followed him, crowding him by just standing in the kitchen. There was no amusement in his voice when he growled, “And if you’ve manufactured something that you think will implicate her, let me tell you that you aren’t hacker enough to cover your tracks from me.”

Then he stepped to the side and pointed to the front door. “Leave. Right now.”

Duffy didn’t even so much as glance at Mel as he bolted out the door.

She closed the door and glanced over at Ben. He was bent over, hands on his thighs as if he had just run a race.

“Ben?” she said. “Thank you.” She hugged herself. “But this was a mistake. We’re both going to be out of work.” She had no family, and only her friends at work. With Duffy spinning stories, she’d have to stay away from them. “Maybe in jail.”

“I watched a man brutalize women once,” he told her without looking up. “I was under orders, but finally put a stop to it anyway. Never again.”

She blinked at him. “Under orders? In the military?”

He laughed, coughed, and said, “In a manner of speaking. Pack business.”

“Pack?” The word should mean something to her, she knew, but she was still worried about what she was going to do without a job.

He lifted his head, and she saw what Duffy had. His eyes weren’t human.

“You’re a werewolf,” she whispered. She’d never seen a werewolf in person before, though she knew there were some in the Tri-Cities. She had seen a wolf at the zoo, though, and it had had the same hungry golden eyes.

“Yes,” he said. “And I didn’t even need to appear on four paws before you got it.”

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” she said, hurt, though she thought that she ought to be more afraid. A werewolf. That explained some things about Ben.

He bent his head down again and huffed as if he was having trouble catching his breath. Or maybe he was laughing. “You know it’s bad when they start quoting Oscar.”

“Oscar?”

He glanced at her. “Oscar Wilde.” His face contorted, released, and then contorted again as his light English complexion darkened. “F-f-f-f . . . freaking fire truck that hurts.” He bent back down and made a noise that made her cringe.

She wanted to help, but she didn’t know how. She was out of work, possibly about to be arrested, and Ben was changing into a scary beast right in front of her. And that was something else he’d given up to try to help her. If he’d wanted people to know what he was, he’d have told them before this.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she said. “About your being a werewolf. At work, I mean. Not that I have a job anymore.”

“Ssst.” He interrupted her nervous babble. “Won’t matter whom you tell; Duffy will announce it to the world. Now shut up a moment and let me get this out because I don’t have much time. If you are fired, I can find you work while you sue for sexual harassment. I and the rest of the DBAs will be happy to testify. Duffy has squat on you.” He looked up again, and she wished he hadn’t. His face was . . . wrong. “Unless you have been selling secrets?”

“No,” she said.

“Thought not. Whatever he has is made up—and he’s not good enough with computers to make a convincing case. He can barely open his own flipping e-mail.” He bent down again, his fingers whitened as he took a stronger grip on his calves. “Full moon tomorrow, luv. And apparently I’m not man enough to stave off the change. I’m about to go werewolf on you so listen up. I have help coming, should be here in about a half hour. You go into your bedroom and shut the door like a good girl, and don’t come out for about fifteen minutes.”

He breathed hard and with obvious effort, but he didn’t stop talking until his whole body tightened up and shook. When it stopped, he took a deep breath. “Right. I won’t hurt you, but watching someone change is pretty gross for you and painful for me and we’ll both be happier if you tuck yourself away until I’m done.”

“Okay,” she whispered, but her feet were frozen to the floor, and she knew exactly how a deer felt, stuck out there in the middle of the road with a truck bearing down on it but too shocked by the bright lights to run.

He looked up and snorted. His face was distorted by sharp teeth that looked too big for his mouth. She covered her own mouth with her hands.

“Now,” he growled.

She did better than just shut the door. She crawled onto her bed and pulled the blankets up around her ears so she didn’t have to hear the noises he was making. The TV made it sound so romantic to be a werewolf. It didn’t sound romantic. It sounded scary, and it sounded like it hurt.